Still no sound. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. ‘That is not your affair.
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